Kryptonite
by Sound Of A Crescendo
Summary: I can't love you like I did yesterday, because I love you so much more today.


**"I can't love you like I did yesterday, because I love you so much more today**."  
First Undertaker/William story on here. I win.

_If I go crazy then will you still  
Call me Superman  
If I'm alive and well, will you be  
There holding my hand  
I'll keep you by my side with  
My superhuman might  
Kryptonite_

Undertaker was washing the dishes. No, really he was washing dishes when a brilliant idea came to him; so brilliant an idea that the pot in his nailed fingers would make quite the clatter as it slipped from soapy hands. The noise was welcomed however, because it only made the man's lips pull into a rather comical expression of mirth. Oh yes. What a brilliant idea.

But, what was so brilliant about this--- yes, I realize we've said brilliant about four times now. Wait, it was five? Really? Well, I apologize! But his idea was truly... brilliant! He couldn't have thought of a better idea if he had meant to. So back to his idea! We would find the main protagonist of our story leaving his kitchen in a bellowing flare of his robes. The dishes could wait! This idea however, was simply to die for-- and he wasn't even a butler!

The retiree skipped down to his stock room with a hum on his tongue and a bounce into those heeled feet. He landed soundly on the old floorboards, which creaked in defiance against his careless movements. "Shhh my beauties." He cooed at the floor, brushing fingers over the worn boards and leaving wet streaks through dust. "Your time will come soon!" He exclaimed with glee. Turning swiftly with an almost military like edge to the sharp movements, the mortician took inventory of the supplies he had. Yes... everything he needed was right here, except one very important detail. But that could wait till he was nearly done. Oh yes, it could wait a bit.

Rolling his sleeves up to the elbow, the undertaker cleaned off a table with a hazardous sweet of his arm-- sending books, old cups, and slightly rotting bits of candy to the floor in a cloud of dust. He coughed briefly, lifting a lengthy sleeve to cover his mouth and waved the other arm in the air to clear away the cloud with annoyance. "Ehhhh! You think I didn't clean around here." There was a pause, and the man tossed his eyes to the side to study the inches of dust over his shelves. Well--- okay. So maybe he /did/ need to clean more. But there was no time for cleaning now!

With the occluding cloud of dust settled, Undertaker started gathering his tools to his table with a hum. A sewing basket, some hunks of wood and nails, various wood-crafting tools and quite the collection of soft silks and satins-- thankfully spared from the dust in the chest he stored them in. With everything gathered, the man tapped his fingers together with glee. Oh yes, this would be so glorious-- surely the best creation he had made yet.

The hour was already late, but even as the sun's rays died through the tainted glass of his shop he was not disturbed. The weekends were thankfully slow and free from customers, and a collection of candles proved quite able to aid the moon in keeping light around his project. Wood was fastened together and glue left to dry. Material was ironed and cut with a strange accuracy, and delicately sewed together. As painted details dried, the wood was taken and sanded down to a smoothed perfection. Next the wood was stained a deep shade of cherry red and left off to the side to dry. Material was taken then and stuffed, the final details being added with small flecks of jewels. As the wood continued to dry by his fireplace, the undertaker was near completion. Only three more details remained. The first was solved simply with a snip of scissors-- causing pieces of white-hair to fall to the table top. Diligent hands made use of the sacrifice-- but the cut was hardly noticed in his uneven strands.

The second detail would be also easily achieved, a glance given towards the window to capture the rising glare of the mornings caress. The sun grew steadily in the distance, and undertaker knew today was going to be perfect. He gathered the wood from the fire where it tried, testing it with a smile to find it perfectly stained. He placed everything he had spent the night toiling over together into a small black wrap of cloth and tucked it under his arm. He closed and locked his shop behind him as he ventured out into the streets; glancing casually down the lengthy line of shops and watching humans awaken from the sleep he had missed. The clack of his heels rounded over the cobble stones around him, hidden eyes studying the stop windows for the one thing he himself could not create in time.

Several minutes later, the man was standing before a curious women, eyebrow arching as she handed the eerie man is purchase. Who would have guessed the mortician had someone to buy such things for? The women's eyes trained after the man as he left the shop with a skip in those strange heels. Who would be loony enough to keep up with him? A sigh left her lips, and she turned back to setting her shop up for the day-- there would be lots of visitors. The undertaker had been smart to come as early as he did-- soon she would be overrun with last minute shoppers.

The undertaker himself however, was already long gone from that street. His purchase had been added to the black-wrapped up items, and tucked safely into his robes. Giving him the freedom to travel as fast as he needed-- and the speed he would need. For now he was racing the mornings light. His old age had little hindrance on his abilities it would see, for the man cleared the edge of an ancient wall with a simple bound. Fingers catching on the parapet of the wall and adding leverage to complete his jump into the town hidden from mortal eye. The forest was lost behind him and he found the smoothed streets he knew well in his youth. A glance was tossed to the night sky-- just starting to brim with the hints of morning. "Nearly." He murmured, before pushing off the ground and vanishing into the shadows of a tall building. The metallic bars of a fire escape met his delicate heels, but was only left behind as he used them to jump clean to the windowsill on the other side of the ally way. He loomed here, fingers clutching the old stones and eyes gleaming at the room behind the glass. So very close.

Those nailed fingers wormed their way under the inch of space left for a small breeze to slide into the room. With a single jerk, the undertaker pulled the window open completely and slipped into the darkness beyond with a silence living up to his legendary status. Scissors were lifted, glinting briefly in the mornings climbing rays before they struck down with a single clip. Fingers plucked the tiny pieces of hair from the pillow, watching almost nervously as the man owning them shifted restlessly. Those eyes trailed slowly down over the exposed chest, and undertaker spared a few moments of interest to take in the delicious sight before him. Not necessarily muscular, but hardly frail the frame laid out was certainly just right enough for the twitching fingers of the mortician. He had to pull himself back from the sleeping man, that exposed flesh melting down into the black sheets barely covering hips was far too alluring. But Undertaker had a mission, and he would finish it.

The black cloth was draped over a table and its contense withdrawn and set up with a small urgency for the time. The final pieces were added, and situated with a content smile over those eerie lips. Undertaker's fingers curled around the window sill again, and he ducked his head as he slipped out into the morning again. He'd pause however tossing a glance over his shoulder to watch the slumbering form of his lover with a soft expression. "Happy Valentines, William." Julian whispered, before jumping free of the cold stones and slipping in to the darkness.

Oblivious to the few cm's of hair he was missing, William stirred awake suddenly-- just missing the white tendrils of hair that slipped away at his window. He blinked warily, looking around with a confused expression. He could have sworn he heard his name. With a shrug that grew into a stretch the manager groggily pulled himself to his feet and left the black sheets of his bed to fall behind him. Leaving his glasses behind in a half-asleep stupor, the man only realized once he had nearly missed the toilet, that, they would have been a brilliant idea to have taken with him.

A splash of water later and a towel hanging around his shoulders William ventured from his bathroom, made a trip back to his bedroom to snag his glasses, and finally headed towards his kitchen. A yawn pulled his facial expression and casing him to squint as he entered the room. He was however given his usual morning shock by the icy-tiles in his kitchen against bare feet. Toes wiggled in protest as he turned the tap on and filled his kettle. At first missing the display set on his kitchen table. But as his kettle was set to a burner, he noticed the smoothed shade of cherry wood from the corner of his eye. He turned in disbelief, lifting a hand to fix his glasses on his nose as he studied present before him with a soft expression. "Tch, Julian...." He murmured, stepping towards the Undertaker's hours of gruelling work with a slight blush along those cheeks. "....as creative as ever." He breathed, lifting a finger to trace the side of the coffin with a bemused expression.

Sitting on the polished surface of his table was a doll sized casket, smoothed and hand carved with tiny leaves and roses to details the edges. Scrolls smoothed into a tiny lid that was opened to reveal the delicate crimson material lining in. It wasn't the display of truffle chocolates that took his interest most-- while, they looked delicious-- it was the two dolls they were situated around them. Tiny miniature replicas of himself and Julian holding hands, right down the very shade of their hair was--- William blinked, and lifted a hand to touch the side of his head. "He wouldn't..." A glance was given back to his bed, and he laughed slightly. "Yes, he would." The man decided, finding it slightly creepy the man had used real hair. But that was why he loved him.

* * *

**Note:** To those of you wondering, I gave Undertaker the factitious name of Julian because A, I loved it, and B, I thought it really suited him. Anywho, this story is dedicated to a friend of mine, Steph, who was having a really bad day. I wanted to cheer her up with a William/Undertaker Fic 3


End file.
